Here's Looking At Us
by naarna
Summary: It's 1944. After leaving Casablanca behind, Draco has opened another joint in a small provincial town in Northern France, helping the local resistance group fighting against the occupying fascists. A letter from Hermione asking for help, however, changes everything. (Historical AU. No Voldemort AU. Dramione Remix 2017)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended._

 **Main Characters:** Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Theo Nott

 **Rating:** M+ (contains Minor Character Death, an explicit scene of sexual content, as well as references to fascism in the 1940, implied violence)

 **Author Notes:** This story was written for the **Dramione Remix 2017** , and it is based on the film Casablanca, namely the famous couple from it, Rick and Ilsa.

The film plays during the second World War, and Rick is an American owning a night joint, and Ilsa is his former lover who comes to him to ask for help in order to escape. To Rick's dismay, she is already married, but in the end, he decides to help them.

My story can be seen as a sort of sequel to the film, playing two years later, with Rick having landed in France, where he again opened a joint, and secretly helps the resistance.

Within the story, I consistently call it a "café", but it's meant to be more like a night club sort of place as it was in the film Casablanca.

 **Thanks:** Many many heartfelt thank yous to my wonderful beta leoprior for combing through my work, your help is much appreciated!

In addition, just as many thanks to _amyeco_ for providing feedback on my draft and for cheerleading—I love you, dear! Another big thank you to _EvoraBlake_ for providing feedback, especially on the smut scene in this story, and for simply being supportive! And also many thanks to _CJRed_ for support and feedback! You're an inspiration, girl!

And of course, thank you to everyone else who was patient enough to listen to my doubts and ramblings while I was trying to finish the story before the deadline... I love you all!

* * *

 **Chapter 1: I need your help**

 _Draco,  
I need your help.  
My husband is dead and I'm no longer safe where I am.  
You're the only one I still trust.  
Remember the bike trip...  
Hermione_

Sitting at the worn-out table in his makeshift kitchen, Draco read those few lines over and over again, already knowing them by heart from the previous read-throughs. Next to him on the table stood a cup of steaming coffee that was entirely too bitter for his taste—he would have loved to add a piece of sugar to even out the bitterness, but they had run out of their sugar yesterday. No one had thought of replenishing the last piece before using it. And supplies were hard to get your hands on these days, in the midst of this on-going war. Even for him.

No one remembered how the wizarding world had been sucked into the war; it had been going on for so long that it would take a very good memory or a historian to dig up the truth, because these days, people all around were too occupied with survival to care too much about it. Himself included.

The letter had been unexpected, especially since he had thought that Hermione and her husband, that redhead he slightly despised, had fled into safety to coordinate the resistance from there. But then, what was _safety_ nowadays, anyway? No place was safe anymore, not with the whole world involved in a war that could mean the end of humanity if the wrong side won.

At least he still had his café, aptly named _Draco's_ , and it was still the thriving meeting place of the desperate seeking help as well as the occupying soldiers out for a drink. Just like in Casablanca, the café he now owned in Abbeville, a small provincial town not too far from the Atlantic coast, was meant to be a neutral zone between factions, a sanctuary from the war. As much as he disliked them, the fascists were just as much allowed to have a drink as the members of the resistance or the ordinary town people were. He hid his true allegiance to the resistance's cause so well that the occupying fascists never even suspected anything and even considered him neutral. Or if they did suspect something, they never had any actual proof.

 _Remember the bike trip..._ Draco brought the cup to his lips for a sip and groaned at the bitter taste. It wasn't the first such coffee he has had ever since they had run out of sugar, but he just couldn't get used to the taste. It was a strong reminder to check their coffee supply to avoid running out of it as well, as it was near impossible to find any real coffee these days—it was a luxury, but one he couldn't live without in the morning. Pushing the thoughts about coffee aside, he tried to remember where they went on their bike trip. He remembered colourful trees and her hair flowing wildly in the wind. Her untameable mane he had loved to bury his hands in. He remembered stolen, fervent kisses between trees, away from the street. And he remembered going from keeping each other warm in an abandoned building to the discarding of clothes. He remembered those days as some of his best—carefree, not yet touched by the war, and full of her laughter and little moans. He remembered where the building had been.

"You're up early, my dear."

With a soft smile, Draco looked up from the letter and towards the door where Pansy was standing, watching him with one of her sleepy, but amused smiles. "Had an urgent letter delivered. There's still some coffee in the pot."

Pansy brushed through her mess of black hair, trying to bring some minimal order into it while entering the kitchen in search for a cup. "Can't they deliver those urgent letters with all the others?" she said, filling her cup with coffee. "The bed was cold without you."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep any longer."

"You barely slept at all."

He shrugged. She was right; he had come home late last night, since a party of rather high-ranking fascists had insisted on staying past the closing times, despite his insistence. And Pansy had insisted on a quick shag, claiming it would help her calm down and sleep after worrying about him. He knew she didn't really worry about him; their relationship was more pragmatic than loving. Two people sharing a bed in an attempt to feel less lonely in a world surrounded by war. A resistance group leader and a café owner.

"What's the letter about?" she asked, rummaging through their pantry cupboard. "Don't tell me we forgot to replenish the sugar!"

"We did."

"Ugh." With a disappointed sigh, she leaned against the counter opposite him, blowing over her coffee as if preparing for the onslaught of bitterness. "So, the letter?"

He lifted the piece of paper lying in front of him, his thumb caressing the hurriedly written lines. "Hermione."

Pansy lowered her cup in surprise. "What's with her? She dead?"

He shook his head. "Her husband is. She asks for help."

"Shit." She finally took her first sip of coffee, followed by her usual irritated growl. "You know that the death of her husband is bad news, right? He's one the main resistance leaders–"

"Was," he corrected her and then leaned back, gazing at her fully for the first time this morning. Pansy was a force to reckon with, an invaluable member of the resistance, and a leader of her own resistance group that consisted of both wizarding folk and Muggles. She had one of the highest bounties on her head, though their opponents still preferred to catch her alive. That was why she stayed in his place night after night—it had been placed under a Fidelius Charm as well as several other protective measures. No one could find her here if _he_ didn't tell them where his place was.

She sighed rather dramatically, barely able not to roll her eyes. "Whatever." Another groan from her indicated she had had another sip. "Seriously, we _need_ to find sugar, and if I have to sell my body to get it!"

"I'll see what I can do at the café... But I won't promise anything." With a sigh, he wordlessly Summoned a piece of paper and the fountain pen he had once found on a dead Muggle close to his café.

"What are you going to do about Hermione? I mean why doesn't she just Apparate out from wherever she is?"

"Pansy, please," he said with an irritated tone to his voice, putting the pen down on the table. "Why don't you Apparate wherever you want to go?"

"That fucking taboo," she said, sighing and brushing her hand through her still messed-up hair. "Traces you to your destination, like a big arrow above your head saying _She's here!..._ I hate it."

Draco could only agree with her. The taboo on Apparition had complicated everything immensely, and even after more than a couple of years living with it, they still hadn't gotten used to it. A few times, they were caught in a trap without a way out—only by sheer luck and a quickly cast Disillusionment Charm did they not get caught while trying to deliver goods. Those were the moments he wished his old life back; he might have been living in a hidden world, but at least he had been free in his movements.

"She doesn't really say where she is, does she?" Pansy asked, looking at her cup as if another gulp was worth the bitter taste.

He was pulled from his short musing about the past, and he raised an eyebrow. " _I_ know. That's the only important thing."

With that, he returned his attention to the letter he needed to write. If he wanted to get Hermione to safety, he needed to act now and contact the right people close to her hiding spot.

"You can't go off to save her," she retorted, the sneer in her voice clearly showing the irritation about the situation. "Not now. You know my group is counting on you getting the supplies we need for our next attack. Fuck Gamp and his bloody law..."

"Pansy, I know. I never said _I would go_." He shot her a glare in annoyance, taking up the pen to tap it on the table. "And I told you yesterday that the supplies will be delivered today or tomorrow, depending on the route the smugglers have to take. You better have everything ready they asked for in the bargain."

"You know I have," she replied in defiance, swaying her cup; a few drops escaped over the rim and dropped on the already stained floor. "I just want to make it clear that, right now, you can't afford running off to _her_ and probably even take someone from my group with you. I need all of them for the attack–"

"I won't–"

"I mean she wrote you a few lines, and you're already... you know... acting like you're her knight in shining armour. She's a widow, and she is in _mourning_ , don't forget that."

"Pansy, I said I won't," he repeated calmly, though tapping louder with the pen. "Just let me finish writing those letters."

She nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. "All right. Do what you have to do to save her. _I'm_ going back to bed." She placed the cup on the counter, still more than half full. "Join me when you're finished. Maybe I'll be good enough to do that thing you like..."

He nodded absently, trying to figure out how to convey his message without giving away any details to the occupants who would surely scan his letters. Magical means were useless, as both sides had wizarding folk in their rank—if a Muggle couldn't open or read a letter, then a wizard or witch trained in Detection Spells would check it.

* * *

..

It was Friday evening, and the café was filled with customers looking either for a good time or for help to get away, discreetly so. Draco was keeping an eye on everything going on in his café from the balcony on the floor above where only the staff was permitted. The café had a similar layout as the one he had had in Casablanca, transforming the place according to his memory—the only thing that was missing was a piano. But since Sam had decided to stay in Casablanca, he had no use for a piano here.

To his satisfaction, both Yvette and Edith were as charming as ever serving the customers while Martin at the bar had a jealous eye on his _amante_ , as he called her. French men were surely proud of being known as good lovers, but they also seemed rather jealous and possessive of their women—or maybe they were more upfront about it than Draco and his fellow English men. But then, Yvette's charm helped to inconspicuously raise the prices in the café as it had become even more difficult to get his hands on supplies—alcohol was especially difficult with the embargo and the controls everywhere. The fascists sometimes even just confiscated alcohol deliveries to get a free drink or two. Still musing about the complications of war times, he saw Yvette pointing her head to the café entrance with thinly pressed lips.

Lieutenant Gruber had arrived. And he looked official this time.

With a sigh, Draco moved downstairs to meet the lieutenant and his people while also trying to keep the peace in his café. He saw several guests making a move to the bathrooms, where an exit was hidden that only he and Yvette knew about. "What a pleasure to meet you tonight, Lieutenant. I still have a bottle of your favourite gin at the bar–"

"I'm not here for a drink, Mr Malfoy." Gruber held up a document that was plastered with several official looking stamps. "This is a search warrant for your café and all adjacent offices and quarters."

This wasn't the first time his café had been searched, as Lieutenant Gruber issued a search warrant each time the resistance carried out a plan to attack their quarters or a convoy carrying either supplies or prisoners of war. Yet, Gruber insisted to search his café repeatedly, even though he had never come up with anything that would incriminate Draco in the slightest. "Well, then. You know where to find everything. However, leave my customers alone–"

"Oh, I know you're serving fugitives, Mr Malfoy. I know you help them flee the continent, and one day, I will find proof of it."

Draco's lips turned into a brief condescending smile, mostly to keep himself from sneering at the lieutenant's words. "This is a place of respite for all parties involved. I want to keep it that way. So, leave my customers alone."

Gruber discreetly waved at his subordinates to start searching the café, then returned his focus to Draco. "I changed my mind, I'd like a gin now while my soldiers search your place," he said, nodding at the last customers passing them to leave through the front entrance.

"Martin, pull out the good gin for the gentleman here." Draco made an inviting move towards the bar where the French man was putting two glasses and a bottle of gin on the counter, his eyebrow raised sceptically.

"As always, only the best in your café," Gruber said smugly, reaching for his glass. "Now, what do you know about the attack on the convoy that was supposed to pass through the village yesterday? It was supposed to deliver new soldiers..."

"Well, you know, I hear many rumours about a lot of things," Draco replied evasively. "I own a café, after all."

"Which means you either know nothing about it, or you won't tell me voluntarily." Gruber took a first sip of his gin. "Only by sheer luck nobody got killed, but we are missing most of the weapons and supplies."

With a short grin, Draco noticed the two soldiers coming out of his office upstairs empty-handed. He would be stupid to store incriminating documents in there. "Well, now that you told me about it–"

"Mr Malfoy, cut it. You have been seen conversing with the resistance group leader, one Ms Parkinson, in here–"

"Which is normal, as this is my café, and she was a customer. I do have the habit of entertaining exceptionally well-looking women myself, and you have to admit, Ms Parkinson is one of those women."

"Yes." Gruber nodded, his eyes momentarily wandering off, probably imagining Pansy in front of him.

"Yet, you accuse me of collaborating with the resistance based on the coincidence of her having a drink here. This place is open to everyone, Lieutenant, even to you." Draco emptied his glass of gin in one go. Of course, Pansy had been here in plain sight, and of course, he had played the charming host to her while they were discussing her plans for the next few days. Yet, as he just said, this place was open to everyone.

"Lieutenant?" the soldiers came back, shaking their heads in frustration. "We found nothing. Not a single document or note, nothing. Not even our _experts_."

Throwing a glance at the two soldiers, Draco recognised one of them as a wizard, or as the fascists called them, _an expert_. "As I said–"

"Don't be so sure about it, Mr Malfoy," Gruber said, a disappointed tone to his voice, and got ready to leave. "One day we'll find something, and it will be my personal pleasure to arrest you."

"Until then, it will be my pleasure to host you," Draco replied with a satisfactory smile. He was hugely relieved to see Gruber leave his café again, even though now he could close down for the night, as no customers would come back.

"Boss?" Martin asked.

"Clean the bar, then go home, all of you. I'll close everything down." Draco placed his empty glass on the counter and turned around to climb the stairs to his office. It surely was going to be a complete mess, as always; the soldiers loved pulling everything out and turning the furniture upside-down, and it was up to him to bring it back into order—though, as a wizard, it only took him seconds to do so.

"You're home early."

Draco sighed when he entered his place and heard Pansy's voice. "Thanks to you."

Pansy got up to greet him, her eyebrow raised in question. "Why? I was stuck here all day–"

"Gruber searched my café because he still thinks I'm helping your group. But as usual, they found nothing."

"He's a bloodhound, be careful with him." She pulled him down for a welcome kiss. "I'm glad they've found nothing."

He placed his hands on the side of her face and gently tilted it upwards so that she ended up facing him. "I'm glad you didn't kill anyone with your job. I don't think Gruber would have been as nice."

She looked at him with surprisingly longing eyes, her hands stroking over his sides in a soothing manner. "You should get more books," she finally said in a quiet voice.

"They confiscated _everything_ by now, you know that. Polyjuice Potion is easier to come by than a book not adhering to their ideology." He knew that the momentary confinement to his place always brought her mood down—she was an active person, always doing things, someone who couldn't stand being stuck in a place. Yet it was necessary for her safety to keep low for a few days, as the fascists were out for her head now. "I'm tired."

She smiled softly at his kiss on her forehead and then pulled him in for a full embrace. "Thanks."

* * *

..

A few days later, Pansy showed up in the café after he had just closed down, using the secret entrance. "Our usual hideout is being watched," she said in a breathless whisper. Her sigh indicated that she was relieved to be inside. "We need to hold our meeting here–"

"Here?" Draco asked. "You know what you're risking with that, right? If anyone sees any of you here, I'm dead."

"Don't be so dramatic, we just have some intel we need to discuss. It's just me and a couple of others that I trust." She pulled her coat off her shoulders, revealing a dark ensemble she found comfortable.

"Pansy–"

"Please, I owe you a favour if you let them in," she pleaded with a suggestive smile.

Draco rolled his eyes, but then nodded. Favours were almost a second currency these days, you just helped each other out to the best of your abilities. Though, he was sure that she meant it in a more explicit way, which he didn't exactly mind either because she knew how to please.

To avoid detection from outside, Pansy and a couple of other members of her group cast a set of Concealment Spells before sitting down at the table in the farthest back.

Draco served them all a drink on the house before he retreated to the upper floor from where he could watch them and listen in on the meeting without having to take part. He never wanted to take part, but he wanted to keep an eye on the things happening in his café.

"According to the note from the Amiens headquarters, we're doing a good job of keeping the fascist forces distracted," Pansy started. "We all have noticed that they have started to pull their forces together at the coast."

"They think that the Allied forces might land there."

"But no one knows if the Allies really have such plans, and if they do, where they would land!" The only other woman in the group leaned back, her arms crossed. Draco thought he recognised the face from somewhere, but couldn't make out the features in the sombre light of the main room.

Pansy briefly glared at her, but then broke into a soft smile. "The allies have plans. We have the instructions to collect information about the fascists' positions at the coast and to keep up with our sabotage acts as well as spreading misinformation."

Draco saw the same soft smile spread on the woman's face; she was probably even blushing slightly. He took a sip from his drink, leaning against the railing. If only Gruber knew what the group had planned—not that he would ever tell anyone about them. He despised the fascists just as much as the members of the resistance group. He'd rather kill himself than denounce them.

"Second point tonight," Pansy continued, the corners of her lips turning into another smile before she caught herself. "I heard rumours that the fascists caught a resistance group near Paris. I'm not sure about the numbers, but I think they shot quite a few on sight and arrested the rest. From what I've heard, only a couple of people could escape."

"How do you know?" one of the men in their circle asked curiously.

"Let's just say that I received information about it," Pansy replied evasively. "No need to endanger ourselves as well as our source."

* * *

 **End Note:** This was chapter 1 of 6 in total. They will be posted once a week until the story is complete. I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it... :)  
Do leave a review to let me know if you liked it, You would totally make my day...


	2. They Almost Got Me!

**Chapter 2 – They Almost Got Me!**

 _Draco,  
Mission failed. Most of group arrested.  
Be careful.  
T._

Draco had this note delivered to his café, with Martin handing it over in a discreet move. It didn't exactly help his mood, and he let out a heavy sigh. Why wasn't it ever easy with Hermione?

"Bad news?"

Draco nodded. "You got some of my personal stack down here?"

"That wizard whisky?"

"Yes," Draco replied, rubbing his temples. "Make it a triple." He needed that drink now to flush down the emerging anger. He couldn't afford getting all emotional, not on a night his café was packed with customers once more. Thank Merlin, the people trusted him enough to keep his place safe, or he could close down for good.

"Voilà, Boss." Martin placed the tumbler with a triple amount of Firewhisky in front of him on the counter without any further comment.

"Thanks. Now go back to work. I want a full till tonight."

"Of course. Yvette and Edith are already doing their best..." With that, Martin returned to his work, taking up orders from the next patron at the bar.

For a while, Draco just watched the patrons in his café, though his mind was stuck on that short note from his contact that their group had been arrested. Merlin yes, that was what Pansy and the others had been talking about heatedly two nights ago—the successful strike of the fascists against the resistance. As good as the resistance was organised these days, someone had to have switched sides and betrayed them.

"Boss?" Martin came back to his corner, nodding towards a couple standing nervously at the bar. "Someone asks for the speciality of the house..."

Draco nodded and took a closer look at the couple—they wore old, slightly torn coats over what looked like clothes that weren't fit for the winter here. They were trying to get away and had been on the run for a while, with only what they had on their body. But above all, they looked weary and run down, a breakdown not too far away. With another nod, he finally got off his bar stool and discreetly joined the couple. "You asked for the speciality of the house?"

The man looked around nervously before he nodded. "A friend said that you help people–"

"We need to get away," the woman added, clinging to the man's arms; Draco assumed from the visible wedding ring that they were married. "We don't... we don't have much, but we pay whatever we have."

Draco eyed them once more. It was clear that they hadn't much left, wearing their only possessions on their bodies; the wedding rings were most probably the only jewellery left, the only thing they could possibly sell to secure their getaway. "Why do you need to get away?"

"We collected information for the resistance, and we were discovered."

Draco knew that a lot of people helped the resistance gather information about the movements of the fascist groups, to find their weak points and help the Allied forces prepare what is rumoured to be an upcoming landing. If those helpers were discovered, they were arrested and then deported into one of those camps the fascists had build throughout the country, or rather throughout Europe.

"Monsieur, we would pay whatever we have to get away..."

His services weren't cheap, as a lot of risk was involved, from getting the right papers to transportation to the next harbour to get them on a ship to safety. Draco shared a look with Martin, who only shrugged with his shoulders while preparing drinks for Yvette to serve at a table. "Come back in two days, and have everything ready you're willing to pay. If you're lucky, you can join a transport to the South."

The woman gasped and placed a hand on her mouth to keep herself from squealing in relief. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't thank me yet," Draco replied and got up again. "Pierre might give you a good price for your wedding rings," he added before retreating to his office. He just hoped that he could place the couple on that transport to the coast, though they hated taking fugitives along.

"Boss, wait!" Yvette came up to him, her usual warm smile on her lips. "I have a note for you. It got delivered it a couple of minutes ago." A brief fumbling around in her blouse produced a small piece of paper that she handed to him. "He said it's urgent."

"Thanks." He hid the note in his sleeve, then he climbed the first steps of the stairs. "Come to the office later when there are less customers around."

"The couple?"

He nodded. "Back to work with you." The note still in his sleeve, he ran up the rest of the stairs.

 _Draco,  
They almost got me!  
Your contact never came...  
Please, I need your help! (I'm hiding not far from our first time)  
Hermione_

* * *

..

"Draco?" Pansy woke up when he came home, entering their shared bedroom in a hurry. "What's up? Did anything happen?"

He only shook his head and Summoned his only bag to pack the things he might need. Waiting until he could close his café had tested his patience because as soon as he had read the note, he had wanted to leave. "Where's my wool jumper?"

Confused, Pansy sat up. "What's going on here?"

"Where's my wool jumper?" he repeated, going through his clothes stacked in the creaky armoire. He completely ignored her question.

"Draco!" Pansy cried out and climbed off the bed to stop him in his search. Irritated about his behaviour, she grabbed his hands to gain his attention. "What. Is. Going. On?"

"Why didn't you tell me that the group that got arrested was in _her_ area?" He freed one of his hands to pull Hermione's note from his coat pocket to show Pansy.

"I didn't know. You didn't tell me _where_ she was," she replied, reading through the note with furrowed brows, only to sigh heavily. "Merlin, she tells you to jump, and you follow."

He grabbed the note back. "You don't understand."

Pansy brushed through her hair and smiled sadly. "I do. More than you think, my dear." She turned around and pulled his wool jumper from another pile. "Shit. I'm going to miss you..."

"Miss me?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowed slightly before he could hide his confusion at her words behind his usual unreadable expression.

"Draco. You're one of my closest friends. _The_ closest, considering we did shag a few times. But this arrangement was never meant to last anyway, was it? We don't _love_ each other except as friends. Doesn't mean I'm not going to miss you..."

"Pans–"

"No." She shook her head. "For once, listen to me, you idiot. Friends is all we're ever going to be. But it was nice to wake up next to you because it made me feel less lonely. I mean, everyone in this goddamn war feels lonely, so it means a lot to me, okay?"

"I..." He sighed, realisation finally sinking in. Pansy let him go. They never had been lovers in the common sense, only friends taking care of each other, but that didn't mean it stung any less. "Pansy, you don't have to leave. Stay. I just want to bring her to safety, nothing more."

"What is safer than _this place_? Look, I know you still love her; that's why you're like this right now, and I know it would be useless to stand in your way." She pulled a second jumper from the pile behind her. "You'll need that too. It's cold outside..."

"Thanks," he replied, holding the bag up for her to put the jumper in. Then he put the bag on the ground to pull her into an embrace. "I'm going to miss you telling me what an idiot I am for running the café the way I am... or that you keep telling me to keep my feet off your calves–"

"They are always freezing!"

"–or the way you bribed me into helping you. Not that I'm going to stop that, anyway." He rubbed her back before loosening the grip around her shoulders to look at her. "But I mean it, you can stay. There's enough room for everyone. And I want to keep you safe too, okay? As my friend..."

"Ugh. Softie." Smirking, she let go and pretended to smooth her nightgown. "Now, go find her. Her presence might just give everyone the right push to finally defeat those fascists."

"You could do me a favour, however," he said, taking up the bag to shoulder it. "There's a couple who asked for help to get away. Make sure they get on the transport to the South in two days. They probably won't have enough to cover the bribes and other costs, but I've instructed Yvette to give you what is needed."

"I'll make sure they get on it. Now, go, you fool!"

* * *

..

The second he left his place, Draco wished he could Apparate to Hermione's location without revealing them both. It took him the eternity of three days to reach the place he assumed she was hiding in. Three days of worrying to be too late to rescue her because he didn't know where she was hiding exactly. Three days of no sleep because he wanted to get there as fast as he could without raising suspicion. Three days full of the bitter taste of that goddamn coffee to keep him awake. No rest, only the urge to get to where she was.

He reached his destination in the late afternoon; it was a small Muggle village just outside of Paris, and a place they had often visited back then for its Sunday market. He remembered the village as a place full of life, filled with the scents and sounds of people bargaining over fruits and vegetables, or just exchanging the latest gossip. Now, as he walked down the main street, the place was empty—neglected buildings that were already crumbling, dirt and garbage littered everywhere; only a couple of people hurriedly passed him with their heads lowered. However, he knew that every step he made was being watched—by both the hidden fascist supporters as well as the resistance. He hoped for the latter to inform the man he needed right now while officially trying to find a new alcohol supplier for the café. The way the fascists went about their business, he constantly needed new suppliers anyway, so the cover story wasn't too far-fetched, at least not in his opinion.

"You're the ferret?" a thin boy asked the moment Draco wanted to sit down at the fountain on the side of the main street; his hungry eyes were fixed on the bite in Draco's hand.

Draco looked at the boy closely, not surprised to find a weary expression. At the first moment, he was surprised that he was asked this, but then he remembered that a few of his oldest contacts used it as a code name for him. "Yes," he said with a nod.

"Follow me," the boy said, nodding towards an empty side street that had seen better days, and Draco got up after another nod to be guided to a door that others seemed to ignore. The boy then gave him a note. "Read this, then you can enter."

Once inside, Draco found himself in a wizarding place, lit by candles floating above him to show a modestly decorated place. He looked around for a moment—it was a habit formed by the war to take note of everything in a room, but especially of ways to get away.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd show up yourself," a familiar voice said, with an amused tone to it.

Surprised, Draco turned around, only to find his old comrade Theo standing in the doorway to another room, looking more haggard and worn than Draco remembered, but otherwise unharmed. "You didn't leave me any other option. Where is she? Here?"

Theo shook his head. "Far too dangerous as those idiots are out for both our heads. I'm stuck here. But I managed to hide her with the last people that I still trust."

"Where?" Draco already turned around to leave the place again to find her. He wasn't here to catch up for old time's sake, only to find her and bring her back to safety.

"Let's eat first, and you look like you could use a decent night's sleep too."

"I can sleep when I've found her," Draco retorted, narrowing his eyes at Theo.

"Draco, you look like a wreck. She _is_ safe where she is at the moment, please trust me." Theo turned around and motioned him to follow.

Draco was led into a kitchen, similar to his—the furniture looked worn, hastily put together to create a useful space. Smelling a stew simmering on the stove, he realised that he was indeed hungry. With a sigh, he sat down, putting his bag on the ground next to him; Theo meanwhile pulled out a couple of bowls and spoons.

"Ever the dramatic one," Theo said with a smirk, placing the dishes on the table in front of Draco. "The stew is mostly vegetables anyway, but they were able to come by a small piece of meat today."

"Thanks," Draco said, nodding briefly. Sat quite comfortably in this kitchen, he suddenly felt the exhaustion come over him, and he yawned violently. "We heard about the arrests..."

"You did?" Theo looked at him in surprise after testing the stew for taste.

"You remember Pansy? Her group was discussing it about a week ago..."

"Pansy? Yeah, I remember her. She was always blunt and headstrong. She has her own group?" Theo brought the pot to the table and sat down before he filled the bowls. "It's not the best, but it fills the stomach."

"Better than the crumbs I had over the last few days." Draco carefully blew over the first spoon of stew before he slurped it in, surprised at the decent taste of it all. "How were you discovered?" he asked after a few more hungrily slurped spoons, straightening a bit.

Theo lowered the spoon he was about to put into his mouth, a sad smile showing briefly on his lips. "The fascists control everything here, except for a few people who keep up. I don't know who, but someone has reported everything about us to them—our hiding place, who we were, what our next plan of attack was. I barely got away when they came for us. I've been hiding here ever since... Besides you, only two more people know about this, and they bring me everything I need."

Draco noticed the restlessness in Theo—the way he was shaking with his legs, or the way he was sighing more often than necessary. "I'm glad they didn't get you."

"Yeah, me too. Once they get their hands on you, you're dead." Theo took in the spoon, momentarily closing his eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't get her out of here."

Draco nodded in response, he didn't hold it against his old comrade; war complicated everything, and people risked their lives more often than they should. At least she seemed in a safer place than he could have hoped for, which eased his conscience ever so slightly.

The rest of the meal was shared in silence, only broken by the occasional yawn or sigh from both.

* * *

..

Late that night, Draco woke up from people walking around in the place, talking in a hurried voice. He was immediately up, trying to figure out what was going on outside the small room he stayed in for the night. Hurried voices were never a good sign these days. It only took him two steps further to the door, and he found Theo in a whispered argument with another man when he opened it. "What's going on?"

With a look between surprise and embarrassment, Theo looked up. "It's just a rumour about a group connected to the fascists. Nothing to–"

"Nothing to worry?" Draco replied with a sneer, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. "This is war, Theo–"

"Seven hells, I know that. I saw friends die a few days ago!" Theo rubbed his face and then inhaled deeply. "Look, so far, it's just a rumour about the possibility of an attack. We don't even know if it's true. And even if it is, we don't even know yet where they plan to strike."

The other man cleared his throat, glancing at Draco with a look of recognition. "I think I know where they plan to strike–"

Theo turned around to the man, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't."

"Boss, don't waste any more time by arguing. The ferret is here for only one reason–"

"I said, _don't_ , Chevalier." Now, there was a low growl audible in Theo's voice.

Chevalier barely flinched at Theo's implied threat. "Oh come on, you know they are trying to find her. They've already killed her husband, for Merlin's sake! I'm pretty sure they already know where she is located, at least the building."

"Theo, _where_ is she?" Draco asked, his tone not accepting any evasive answers any longer. He even stepped closer until he was hovering over his old comrade, using his height for intimidation as he sometimes did to get what he wanted. What Chevalier had said so far wasn't something Draco wanted to hear—Theo had assured him that she was safe for the night, and now the fascists knew where she was hiding. "You know why I am here..."

After a few seconds of glancing at the other two, Theo finally gave in with a heavy sigh. "All right, then. Get Dupont and Christine. No need to raise suspicion."

Soon after, the five of them set out in the safety of the dark night for the building Hermione was hiding in. They had been cautious and used both Disillusionment Charms and Repelling Charms on themselves. However, it was quiet, apart from them sneaking through the side streets, nothing disturbed the peace.

For Draco, it was too quiet. His inner alarm kept going off at every shadow, even if it was just a piece of clothing hanging forgotten on a window sill, or a rat running past them. He didn't like it.

And then the person in front, Draco thought it was the woman Theo called Christine, stopped them all. "They are here," she whispered and pointed to a barely visible building on the other side of the street they've been passing through.

"We're close," Theo said, pointing discreetly to a two-story house next to the building Christine had singled out, "but we need to move fast now. Dupont, Chevalier, you secure the first floor. Christine, you guard the second floor. Me and Draco, we go in. You can shoot to kill if you have to, but use it sparingly."

Moments later, they reached the house and sneaked inside after a silently placed _Alohomora_. "Come with me, Draco," Theo said with a short wave. "If they are already this close, we need to hurry."

Draco nodded and followed him wordlessly while the other two men took up their positions, facing the door. Upstairs, everything was just as silent as outside, as most people were still asleep. Only the occasional wood board in the floor creaked when one of them stepped on it as carefully as they could. The sound wasn't loud per se, but in the deadly silence of the first floor, it seemed to echo off the walls.

"Christine, you keep an eye on the stairs. Shoot to kill if you have to," Theo said, knocking a signal on the door at the other end of the corridor; the sound letting them all flinch momentarily and stare at the other doors in fear of being discovered.

The door opened seconds later and revealed a bleary looking woman, who rubbed her eyes; they had apparently woken her from whatever sleep she might have gotten. Her eyes widened when she recognised Theo. "I thought... I thought you were hiding," she said and opened the door to let the two men in.

"Situation has changed," Theo replied grimly. "They plan to take her tonight."

"What?"

As was his habit, Draco had a look around the place. It seemed to consist of a main room that served as both the living room and bedroom, with two doors leading into, as he guessed, the kitchen and a bathroom. He could make out some furniture, and it looked like it had been assembled in a hurry, scavenged from other places that were no longer used. "Where is she?"

Now the woman looked in confusion at Theo, briefly throwing a side-glance at Draco. "Who's he?"

"An old friend; he's come to bring her to proper safety," Theo explained with an impatient sigh, then signalled Draco to follow him to an old wardrobe. Once they've both climbed inside the empty piece of furniture, Theo briefly smirked at Draco. "Without me, they would have had to tear down the building..."

"Fidelius?"

Theo shook his head. "Didn't have enough time for it. But the entrance is protected by spells." After another brief smirk, he murmured the words of a spell, and a door appeared. He knocked in a certain rhythm on the back of the wardrobe, repeating it over and over until they could hear a faint sound from the other side.

"Theo?" a female voice asked in surprise that Draco immediately recognised, even causing a small shiver to run down his spine.

"Yes, it's me. I brought someone along you might recog–"

"Draco!" A gasp escaped Hermione's lips before she clasped her hand on it, her eyes wide in shock while she looked at him. "You-You... You're here!"

He nodded and climbed through the hole into the small room she had been hiding in. "I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier."

"You're here now." With a small sob, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. "They... They just shot him. And I've been scared they'd kill me too ever since."

"It's okay," he whispered, holding her tightly. He was beyond relief to have found her alive and reasonably well. It had been years since he had last held her like he did now, trying to protect her, and only now, in this single moment, did he realise how much he had actually missed it. "How long have you been in this... this cell?"

She lifted her head, a sad smile on her lips. "Days, but it feels like months. Thank you so much for coming..."

Theo turned his head back; he had seemingly heard something outside. "We need to move now," he said, his lips pressed together and urging them on to get on the move. "They are inside the house. We haven't got much time."

They made it out of the flat within seconds, all of them with their wands ready to cast jinxes. Downstairs, they heard the sound of fighting, of spells being cast and missing their targets by inches.

"Ready?" Draco asked, squeezing Hermione's hand one last time, and smiled softly when she nodded. "You remember what to do?"

"Do you?" she asked, raising her eyebrow mockingly, but then stepped behind him for cover. His height gave them a slight advantage, as their opponents might not see what's coming for the first couple of spells cast; besides that, they both weren't afraid to cast the deadliest curses and spells in a fight to save their own lives.

"Left," he whispered as they climbed down the first steps, right into the fight, with Theo in front of them. "Right," she replied automatically, and seconds later, they cast the Killing Curse in the given directions, missing their opponents only by an inch.

The move, however, gave Dupont and Chevalier the advantage over their slightly distracted opponents and they knocked them either dead or unconscious. "They were waiting for us," Dupont said, panting heavily, but looking fine. "I can only presume there might be more outside."

Hermione threw Theo a disapproving glance when she saw he was about to say something with a sneer. "Just. Don't... No _I told you so_!" she hissed. "Let's just get out of here."

"Both of you, stubborn as hell," Theo replied with a short laugh, shaking his head, but then, he fumbled something out of his coat pocket; it looked like an unremarkable pebble. "If we fail, Apparate to the village church and then press this little thing as tightly as you can; it'll transport you to my place without setting off the taboo alarms," he said, handing the pebble to Hermione, who accepted it with a grim nod.

"Let's go," Draco said impatiently and made a move towards the door.


	3. Only slightly browned

**Author's Note:** There's a character's death mentioned in this chapter...

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – He likes them only slightly browned**

It was a slow Thursday evening a week later when Draco decided to leave the responsibility of closing down the café to Martin, even though he knew that the Frenchman would use the opportunity for an intimate moment with Yvette. But tonight he didn't care, and he could always reprimand his barkeeper the next day if anything was out of order.

No, tonight he planned to show Hermione the headquarters of the resistance, after finally giving in to both Hermione and Pansy arguing with him about the lack of safety. Hermione was furious about having someone decide over her head, but he wanted her safe—he wasn't going to lose her to this goddamn war a second time. So he conceded under the condition that he would be Hermione's company during her visit; as much as he trusted Pansy, he didn't trust everyone in her group.

"Don't frown, Draco," Hermione said when they walked the short distance from his place to the headquarters. "It doesn't suit you."

"I frown whenever I want to," he retorted, not flinching at the glare he earned in response.

"Petulant child," she murmured under her breath, just loud enough to let him hear her words.

He stopped mid-walk and turned towards her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't, Hermione. Don't call me that when you know exactly why I'm worried."

With an appeasing smile, she reached for his hand, only to frown when he hid it in his coat pocket. "I know, Draco. But please remember that I can protect myself if I have to, I'm not a child you need to supervise every minute of the day. It'll be fine tonight, I promise."

He knew she was right; people always seemed to underestimate her, but she was fully capable of protecting herself. He just didn't like that she wanted to keep putting herself out there after everything she had been through recently as a consequence.

"Draco, I promise, it's going to be fine. I'm just going to say hello and talk a bit with the people." She reached into his coat pocket to intertwine her fingers with his. Her soft smile grew wider when he finally nodded in response to her words. "Now, let's get inside. It's freezing, and Pansy promised there would be some cake-looking thing..."

A few silent minutes later, her hand remaining in his coat pocket, they arrived at a derelict looking building that had seemingly taken one hit too many. However, Draco confidently headed for a side door and then knocked in a specific pattern.

Pansy opened, and her smirk widened when she recognised them. "You made it!" She stepped aside to let them in. "We weren't sure you'd come at all... No need to look like a sourpuss, Draco."

Inside, they were met with a lot of noise coming from everywhere in the room—printing machines in one corner, people still talking heatedly in another, but cheering from everyone else who had seen them enter.

Draco squeezed Hermione's hand gently when he noticed that she was stumbling next to him. "Remember the cake-looking thing," he whispered with a smirk.

"People, we are finally graced by the famous Hermione Weasley, still better known as Granger..." Pansy couldn't keep a satisfied grin off her face when she introduced Hermione to her group.

"It's great to have you here," a woman in the corner said with a big smile, even waving briefly. "Sorry for your loss, though."

"Thanks," Hermione replied politely, leaning slightly into Draco before she straightened herself again. "I heard there was going to be cake."

"Oh, Madeleine over there whipped up something," Pansy replied, pointing to the woman who had offered her condolences just now. "Nothing fancy, though."

Encouraged by the smiles on everybody's faces, Hermione finally walked further into the room, pulling Draco along as she still held onto his hand. "I'm glad to be here, thanks for letting me join..."

"It's an honour to have you in our midst," a man with a dark brown beret replied, bowing his head slightly. "We've heard many stories about your courage..."

"Is it true that you were almost caught by the fascists?" Another man in the row behind asked excitedly.

"Yes, how did you get out of there?" a woman on the other side asked, looking as if she was going to hug Hermione any second, only held back by Draco's rather intimidating look.

"Guys, give her some peace," Pansy intervened after she had noticed Draco's silent sneer. "I'm sure she will tell the story when she is ready to. Now, bring the cake and the wine."

A table was hastily cleared and a couple of chairs placed next to it while the cake and wine were brought in with great pomp.

"Draco, please, ease up," Pansy whispered, nudging him in the side. "I trust these people, and you trust me, can't that be enough? You've never been as protective with me..."

He let out a deep sigh. "I know."

"Good." Pansy smiled. "I'm going to stay here overnight. You two need an evening alone; you've been dancing around each ever since you got back, and I feel like an intruder right now."

"You don't have to–"

"Try the wine," she said, stopping him with the shortest of glares. "I gave Michel a hard time to find a decent box of bottles. And you don't want to know what we had to pay for it."

When they returned their attention to Hermione and the others, they noticed that Madeleine was already in a deep conversation with Hermione about the difficulty to find nylons, and Hermione's laugh in response to Madeleine's sarcastic remark helped Draco to ease up.

"I tore my last pair while we were travelling back here," Hermione said, still chuckling.

Another woman, who was filling the glasses with wine, turned around with a look of curiosity. "How did you get out?"

"By sheer luck," Hermione replied, a hint of sadness to her voice. "They were coming for me, and they even followed us from village to village. So, we had to take a detour." She kept staring at the woman with the wine until recognition widened her eyes. "Millie? I mean Millicent?"

"Yes, it's me," Millicent said with a blush to her cheeks and a brief nod. "Followed Pansy here," she added more quietly, her eyes fixed once more on the glasses in front of her. Seconds later, she turned around again, a smile on her face and two glasses of wine in her hands, shimmering beautifully in a dark, rich red. "Here."

Draco smiled politely as he took his glass and took a first sniff of its content. He hadn't seen Millicent Bulstrode in ages, not since their school days in fact. After all, he barely had contact with the group to keep any incriminating witness account to the minimum, except with Pansy, and she usually neither told him too many details about the group's activities for the same reason. The short but warm smile on Millicent's face when she shared a glance with Pansy didn't escape him. Knowing Pansy, Millicent was a lost cause...

Moments later, Pansy raised her glass, demanding everyone's attention. "Toast to those who have fallen for the cause, may their sacrifice not be in vain."

"Amen," murmured the others; some of them even made the sign of the cross to honour the fallen.

"And a toast to us, those still living and keeping up the fight because someone has to. May our work be helpful to the Allies."

"Death to the fascists!" was the overall response to her second toast, with everyone in the room raising their glass.

"And now, let's celebrate the lucky arrival of Hermione!"

With that, pieces of cake were distributed to everyone while the happy chatter filled the room, enjoying a rare moment of peace in this on-going war.

..

It was late when they made it back home to Draco's place, with Hermione being quiet throughout the short walk, her hand squeezing his tightly. Her demeanour didn't change once they stepped inside his place; she only sighed when he carefully pulled her coat off.

He reached for her fidgeting hands once he had hung up both their coats. "What's the matter, Hermione? You're so quiet all of a sudden..."

With a brief, sad smile, she looked up at him. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I just miss him."

"Hey, it's fine. He was a large part of your life," he said, carefully pulling her closer inch by inch until he could wrap his arms around her.

"The evening was nice," she whispered, "but it brought all the memories back. It just hit me, you know?"

"You should have said something; I'm sure Pansy would have understood..."

She shook her head. "They seemed glad that I was there; I didn't want to disappoint them."

Hearing that, Draco let go of her, only to place his hands on the sides of her face to tilt it up until she was looking at him. "Hermione, you lost someone. They would have understood because they've all lost family and friends too." He gently brushed over her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away silent tears that she could no longer hold back. "Want to tell me what happened?"

She shook her head once more. "I'm just emotional because I've had too much wine, that's all."

"I don't believe you," he said in a calm whisper and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. After a weak smile, he reached for her hands on his waist to guide her to the living room area, where he seated her on the worn-out settee he had once found in an abandoned house; he sat down on the sturdy-looking sofa table in front of her. "Tell me what happened. I don't want you to feel like you need to bottle it all up for my sake, all right? I'm glad that you're still alive and that you asked me for help... You know I would do almost anything for you."

"I-I know," she replied with a suppressed sob, nodding briefly. "I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate that..."

"You don't have to; I know."

She wiped away the first angry tears from her cheeks and inhaled deeply. "They just shot him from the back, you know? We were about to arrive at the port to get over to Britain, and they ambushed us. We didn't even have the chance to defend ourselves. I-I... I even had to leave his body behind. They would have killed me too if I had stayed there."

Draco waited patiently while she let out the grief she had bottled up for so many days—curled up on the sofa, sobbing loudly but no longer bothering to wipe her tears away. It stung his heart to see her break down like this, so vulnerable. In an offer of comfort, he brushed his fingers over her hands and lower arms, and it seemed to soothe her ever so slightly; he kept brushing those soothing patterns until she started to calm down again, emerging, however briefly, from the grief that had so completely overwhelmed her.

"So-Sorry."

He shook his head gently. "No need to be."

She pressed her lips into a thin smile and wiped her eyes. "It's stupid really. We weren't even that close any more. We fought a lot, you know? Over nothing and everything in the end." She grabbed his hand that was still brushing soothing patterns on her wrist and held it tight.

"That's not stupid. We did have our fights too, remember?"

"Yes," she said, her thin smile widening. "But I also remember that we were able to talk through it in the end, you know? It wasn't like that anymore with Ron; the fighting never really stopped. I think we stopped listening to each other a long time ago. We even slept in separate rooms when we were waiting for the boat in Cherbourg. Separate rooms, Draco! We were married! Married people aren't supposed to sleep in separate rooms!" She tried to suppress a sob, but it only turned into a loud hiccup. "I-I heard that you had a café somewhere in the region, so I tried to get here. But... but the fascists were everywhere... I mean, they were hunting me. That's when I wrote the first note."

"What about the other members of your group?" he asked calmly, running his thumb gently over her pulse point.

"Harry is... he's in Britain, he's the only one who made it over. God, I still need to tell him that Ron is dead." Her voice broke when she tried to continue speaking, turning into a voiceless whisper. "I...I can't do that."

"I can tell him for you," he offered quietly to take the burden off her shoulders. "Is there any–?"

"Hold me. Please."

He had her in his arms within seconds, providing a safe place for her to break down and let go of control as long as she needed to. Her grief touched him more than he would have admitted; he had learned to keep his emotions at bay, not letting the constant feeling of loss get too close to him—too many people had died in that war, so the daily news of new deaths had seemingly numbed him. And now there was Hermione crying into his jumper with abandon, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and conflicted for the first time in a long while.

After a while, Hermione finally turned her head to the side and sighed deeply. "You know I thought about you a lot, about the time we had together..."

"You did?" Draco tried to keep his heart under control, but it still jumped at her admission.

"Yes," she said with a single nod. "I missed those days. Carefree, just the two of us. Maybe I shouldn't have left Casablanca that night with the plane..."

"Please, don't say that–"

"Every time Ron and I fought," she continued, completely ignoring his interjection, "I had that thought in my mind. _Maybe I shouldn't have left you_."

He let go of her, only to pull her up. "You did it for a reason, Hermione. What good could you have done if you had stayed with me in Casablanca? Nothing. Maybe save the odd refugee, but that's it. You believed in the cause–"

"Did I?"

"Yes. And you made me believe in it too. You're the reason why I came here—well, not exactly here, but France in general. You're the reason why I help Pansy and her group. You're the reason why I put every cent I still have into providing help for those who ask. I do all of that because you believed in the cause back then."

"Make me believe again," she whispered, her forehead touching his while she gently cupped his cheeks with her hands. "Please," she added, brushing her thumb over his lips.

He closed his eyes at her touch. It was so promising, and it caused him to shiver. All the kisses they had shared before came back, flooding his mind—the feeling of her lips against his, the passion behind every single of their kisses, and how they had always left him wanting more. She couldn't possibly know how much he longed for her touch, how much he longed to once more share that connection with her, yet... "Hermione, you just lost someone. I don't think it's a good idea rig–"

She didn't leave him a chance to finish his sentence, claiming his lips in a searing kiss.

Draco only struggled against the kiss for a couple of seconds until he gave in to her request of comfort and the repeated breathless plea. His fingers digging into the hair on the sides of her face, he kissed back fervently, getting himself lost in the feeling of her lips, something so familiar yet so unknown. Right there, he didn't care any longer about doing the right thing; all he cared about was that he had her back in his arms, offering a comfort he didn't know he needed.

* * *

..

Draco spent the next morning in his office at the café, working on his finances and trying to figure out how to keep the café profitable despite war bringing almost everything else to a standstill. However, that morning, he was working slower through the bills and receipts than usual, as his mind kept going back to that kiss he had shared with Hermione the night before. Her desperate plea still rang in his ears, and licking his lips ever so often, he could still feel the touch of her lips on his. He had barely slept, trying to sort his thoughts about the implications of it all. At one point, he had given up his attempts to sleep, and had instead decided to come in early and deal with the café's financial aspects, avoiding Hermione altogether for the day.

However, a knock brought him back to the present, and seconds later, a wary looking Edith pushed her head through the door. "Boss? Your friend wants to speak with you..."

"Friend?"

She nodded. "She said it was important."

Taking a deep breath, Draco nodded, bracing himself for a rather uncomfortable conversation after leaving without a word this morning. "Let her in."

"Here you are." To Draco's imminent relief, Pansy came into his office, transformed into an ordinary farmer's wife—except for her nails. "You weren't at your place, so I figured this would be the only other place I'd find you."

He leaned back, running his fingers along the edge of the desk. "Edith said it was important."

She sat down on the only other chair available in the room and smirked at him. "Edith wouldn't have let me through to you if I hadn't said that. That woman is over-protective of you, I tell you."

"What are you planning this time?" he asked, drumming his index finger rather impatiently on the desk. "I'm pretty sure that's the only reason you're here..."

"Mostly, yes." Her eyes briefly skipped down to his nervous fingers, then went straight back up to meet his gaze. "You know that the fascists are reinforcing their troops at the coast because they think the Allies will land there. They know the allies are coming–"

"And you want to stop them?"

She nodded. "The Allies count on us, Draco."

"You know that Gruber will search the café again in the hope to find traces of our collaboration? One day, one of us will be too careless..."

"Draco, the Allies are planning something! And we need to keep the fascists from gathering their troops there." She glided forward on her chair until she sat only on the edge of it, her voice taking on a desperate tone.

"Yes, I've heard a few rumours about it."

She leaned forward, winding herself up like a restless spring. "We don't need much this time..."

He sighed. She always came to him when her group needed supplies—according to magical laws, they could multiply their supplies only to a very low limit and always had to organise the rest. And that was where he came in. It was a highly dangerous task every single time, risking discovery and more whenever he had to plough through his contacts to get what was needed. At least his expenses were more or less covered each time. "Make me a list, and I'll see what I can find. I won't promise anything. And you know my price..."

"No chance this time to pay you in kind, right?" She winked at him knowingly.

Smirking briefly, he shook his head. "No."

"Pity. It would have been easier... But you'll get your money, don't worry." Looking somewhat relaxed, she leaned back. "Speaking of _paying in kind_ , Hermione seemed a bit off when I came back to your place. Did you two talk?"

He nodded and leaned back as well, folding his hands before himself in an almost defensive gesture.

"Merlin, when did you come here this morning?" She clicked her tongue in disapproval and let out a sigh. "Draco, what did you do? Hermione told me that she hasn't seen you yet today because you'd left your place before she got up..."

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you." Glaring at him, she straightened up in her chair. "So, what did you do?"

"I did nothing," he replied, holding her gaze. " _She_ kissed me."

"What? And...?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "Nothing else happened, Pansy."

"No, no. This isn't _nothing_. I don't care who started it, _you_ should have stopped. Maybe you haven't noticed it, but people around here are rather adamant about paying the dead the proper respect, and what you did... Draco, no. Just no." She leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What?"

"It's one thing to shag me because I'm what the people here would call a _free spirit_ with as much disdain as they can, but _her_? She's a fucking icon, Draco! And she is mourning her dead husband–"

"Whom she didn't love anymore–"

"They won't care about that, Draco. All they care about is that Hermione and Ron were married, so she is supposed to mourn him, regardless of how she felt about him before he got killed." She got up, only to lean over his desk to reach him, shaking her head once more in disbelief. "You fucking lovesick fool..."

"Are you done?" he retorted, barely holding back a growl. "I fucking know all that... Don't you dare to judge us, you weren't there last night."

"Yeah, if I had been, it wouldn't have happened."

He leaned in until his face was only inches from hers. "Your little party caused her to have a breakdown. All she wanted was some comfort."

"And of all things, it had to be a kiss?"

Sneering at her words, he got up as well. "Make me a list of what you need," he said in a dismissive growl.

"I _need_ you to keep your hands off of her as long–"

"Keep arguing, and I will up the price this time."

"Bah!" With a huff, Pansy straightened herself to her full height, only to turn and head towards the office door where she turned back once more before opening it. "All I am saying is that you should be patient, Draco. Please?"

He nodded and watched her leave after a peek outside to make sure no one could see her tiptoe to the secret exit near the bathrooms. As soon as he was alone once more, he sat back down in his chair and let out a deep sigh. Pansy's visit hadn't helped his conflicted emotions about the whole situation at all—he knew that the kiss had breached a list of rules pertaining to the mourning etiquette; he knew that he should indeed be patient until the shortest appropriate amount of time had passed before he could even consider courting her officially. He should have stopped her, but it just didn't feel right to do so in that moment. With one last lick of his lips as if he could still feel hers, he returned to the receipts on his desk.

* * *

..

That day, Draco avoided going back home until the very last moment, until it was time to close down the café for the day. Pansy hadn't come back with her list of supplies either, but he expected that it would take her a while to write it all down; plus there were always moments when she had to stay inside somewhere to keep out of sight. Even the walk home, usually done in hurried steps because it was late and he was tired, took longer. He still had Pansy's words in mind, calling him a lovesick fool just because he hadn't stopped Hermione from kissing him. Why couldn't it ever be easy with Hermione? Just for once?

Eventually, his steps did carry him home, and with a big sigh, he entered the place. He braced himself for the awkward silence between him and Hermione, however, they were going to resolve it without hurting the other too much. He stopped in his tracks to take his coat off when he heard a familiar voice speak in the kitchen, with a loud chuckle following. He briefly closed his eyes, fighting against the urge to just button his coat up again and leave the place to sleep at the café.

"No, not like that. He likes them only slightly browned... Put that batch on my plate then."

"He used to like them a bit more crunchy when we were–"

"Trust me, he likes them only slightly browned."

Pansy. She was here. Teaching Hermione how he liked his fried potatoes. Bloody witch. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and hung up his coat to enter the kitchen moments later. Without saying anything, he took a seat at the table.

Pansy nudged Hermione in the side with a nod in his direction, then returned her attention to the pan. "Yes, that's perfect. You're getting the hang of it."

Hermione's smile froze when she saw him while she piled the potatoes on the plate that was obviously meant for him—the other two plates were already filled. He could see that she was fighting against the urge to just leave the kitchen for her room, as tensely as she stood in front of the stove.

Pansy then brought the first two plates to the table and placed them at the seats for her and Hermione. "Finally made it home, I see."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on Hermione, who sighed before taking up his plate to bring it over. "A couple of patrons didn't want to leave."

"And who are you to throw them out, right?" Pansy replied, not even attempting to hide the spite in her voice, and sat down.

"Here," Hermione said when she placed his plate with fried potatoes and what looked like an arrangement of winter vegetables in front of him. "Hope you like it."

"Looks good." He kept watching Hermione while she sat down. She looked worn, as if she hadn't slept either. Shooting Pansy a side-glance, he noticed her smug smile and realised she must have arranged this on purpose. Bloody witch.

"I have to say, Hermione's a good cook, the way she handled the potatoes," Pansy said, breaking the silence at the table while they were eating. "One could think she'd never done anyth–"

"Why are you here, Pans?" Draco interrupted her, putting his fork down again after swallowing his bite.

"You said you wanted a list of supplies..."

"You couldn't have had someone bring it to the café, could you?" He saw Hermione flinch at his low growl, which he hadn't intended. Keeping his eyes fixated on Pansy, he flexed his fingers to keep them from grabbing Hermione's hand for comfort. "You know no boundaries..."

"I live here, too, remember?"

"Draco, stop it," Hermione said, putting her fork down and looking straight at him for the first time since he had come back home. Her voice was quiet but firm, demanding his attention. "I'm glad she came back because I was lonely..."

He nodded.

"Look, I realised I made a mistake when I kissed you, all right? I just felt... lost in that moment. Yes, lost... And then you looked at me like that–"

"Honey, it's not your fault," Pansy said with a soft smile and put another spoonful of potatoes into her mouth.

Hermione turned around to look at her, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly at the other witch. "It is."

"I could have stopped it," Draco replied, reaching for her hand, only to flinch when she pulled it back.

"No," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "You wouldn't have. _I_ shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Draco would have loved to hex Pansy a few times for her game, for setting this all up. Pushing the almost empty plate away, he got up. "I'm tired. You can leave the list on the table in the living room, Pansy, and then excuse yourself back to the headquarters."

"Oh, throwing me out?"

"I am, yes."

"Draco, don't, please." Now Hermione reached for his hand while he made to get up. "There's no need to throw her out."

Barely holding back a sneer when he met Hermione's inquiring gaze, he briefly twined his fingers with hers. "I have had enough. I'm going to bed."

* * *

..

Later that night, Draco was woken from his sleep by a gentle hand brushing over his shoulder and arm. However, it still took him a few more brushes to fully realise that he wasn't dreaming it. Confused, and struggling to stay awake, he opened his eyes, only to see that he wasn't alone in his bed. "Hey..."

Hermione smiled sadly in response; she lay in front of him, her eyes searching his face. "I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmare?" he asked softly, searching for her hand with his.

She shook her head. "I'm still not used to sleeping alone in a room... Ron and I have always shared a bed until... until we had to wait for the boat over. I know it sounds stupid, but I just can't sleep alone. It feels weird."

He yawned and smiled when she let his fingers intertwine with hers. "Is that why you're here?"

She nodded, her eyes wandering down to their hands, avoiding his gaze.

"You know that we are treading on very thin ice right now?"

She nodded once more, this time meeting his gaze. "I know. And I'm really sorry for kissing you, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset."

She smiled and stroked over his cheek with her free hand. "I like how you always look at me... It's like back in Casablanca, or back in Paris. Your eyes always softened then when you saw me, and they still do now. I missed that. Honestly."

Fighting to keep his eyes open, he looked at her more intently, noticing the slightly furrowed brows and how she kept biting her lower lip. "Why did you come back? I thought you wanted to reach the States when you came to me in Casablanca..."

"I did. But then Harry contacted us, saying he needed help... And..." She bit her lip again in an attempt to find the right words. "He was his best friend; Ron just couldn't say no." Her sigh turned into a quiet sob.

"Shh... it's okay." Carefully, he pulled her closer until he could wrap his free upper arm around her.

"It's not okay. It's..." The rest of her words were lost in another sob, muffled by his pyjama top. "I wished him away, and now he's dead."

"He didn't die because of you... They shot him in an ambush." He pulled her up and pressed a soft peck on her forehead to calm her down. "It wasn't your fault."

She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips and then took a deep breath. "I really should have stayed with you in Casablanca."

"Don't say that–"

"I'm not saying this because I'm emotional again," she replied earnestly, shaking her head. "I thought about it, you know? I... I was just confused back then. I mean, I loved him, and then... and then I saw you again. For a moment it was like back in Paris, just the two of us. I know you tried to do the noble thing with sending us away, but I think you wanted me to stay."

After a heartbeat or two in silence, Draco nodded. "You're here now, that's what counts," he whispered. "Now try and get some sleep."

"I had planned to ask for a divorce once we had made it to Britain," she said in the same whispering tone, ignoring his last remark. "I would have waited for you."

"Hermione..." Draco couldn't finish his sentence because he couldn't believe what she had just said. It was too much to sort right now with his sleepy brain; it was something to go through the next day. "I wish you hadn't said that. It's not making things easier, you know?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know, that's all."

"I mean it," he replied and closed his eyes because they started to get heavy. "I'm glad you're here now, with me, but we can't just take things up again where we left them... They have changed."

"Are you saying that you don't want–?"

"No." He tried to suppress a yawn. "But we can't just continue like nothing happened. Your husband is dead, Hermione, and you're supposed to mourn him, not kiss me."

She turned on her back, letting out a small disappointed sigh. "Six months. A lot can happen in that time..."

"I know. But I want to do it right. I would wait those six months so that I can court you properly in public."

"You would?" she asked, turning her head towards him, surprise shining through in her voice.

His eyes still closed, he nodded and then pulled her closer to him. "Now, sleep. You're lucky that I can still talk while half asleep."


End file.
